


touchy-feely

by sandpapersnowman



Category: The Collector Series (Movies)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Touch-Starved, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-20 00:52:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8230562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandpapersnowman/pseuds/sandpapersnowman
Summary: He's been held here a while now. Not every touch hurts as badly as the last.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sanguiniel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanguiniel/gifts).



> referenced like canon-typical gore? mentions of like. stabbing, punching, split lips, tooth removal, and very brief mention of force-feeding
> 
> for my wife for dragging me into this hell. did yall know ive seen both these movies twice in a week

The man doesn’t talk much.

When he does, it’s whispered low enough he wouldn’t be able to recognize his voice. That makes him a weird sort of hopeful, because why would he bother staying unidentifiable if he wasn’t planning on letting him go?

He motions with his hands a lot. Pointing, waving, hitting -- Arkin’s gotten his fair share of commands and instructions from the Collector’s fingertips pressed into his skull or his palm over his mouth. Makes vague, frustrated gestures when Arkin vomits from pain or nausea or disgust.

He’s touchy in general, too. Arkin guesses there must be something intimate about touching someone’s face moments before hurting them, maybe some sick satisfaction in being so gentle and then suddenly so cruel. He certainly seems to take satisfaction in it when it’s Arkin’s cheek he’s holding, or his lips he’s running his thumb over, and then digging a scalpel into his chest and scraping it down just to feel it bounce over his ribs.

He personally brings food to him. He personally bathes him when he’s grimy and crusted with blood enough that he’s risking infecting any new things he inflicts. He _personally_ makes Arkin’s life a living hell, and _personally_ makes it worse when he gets nice about it.

The last time Arkin split his lip from a punch to the face, the Collector didn’t use rubbing alcohol like usual, but instead, got out a brand new bottle of antibacterial soap. No burning, no sting as the alcohol seeps into his tissue, none of that. Just… Disinfecting.

The antibacterial soap stayed around after that, too. It only goes down when Arkin sees it, so he’s either only using it for him or using different bottles for each of his specimen. The latter seems more likely, but… There’s a weird feeling in his gut when he considers he might be the only one getting special treatment like that, and it’s not the meat the Collector forced down his throat to keep him fed.

Then came the touching that _wasn’t_ for pain. A light hand on his shoulder here, a pat to his chest there -- enough that Arkin’s come to expect casual touches from him, whether he wants them or not.

Which, to be clear, he doesn’t. If the Collector never touched him again, it’d be too soon. But he’s started mixing in the casual touches more and more. It lets him relax, let his guard down, and then feel a new kind of shock and surprise when the touch hurts again. He’s going soft, and paying for it every time. 

Worse, then come the touches that are _nice_. He doesn’t want those either, which makes it worse when the Collector’s hand runs through his hair and his body betrays him and leans into it. He’s so touch-starved, and this guy must know it, and he’s found a new kind of torture for him: how pliant and almost cooperative, almost _content_ , can he get Arkin before his stomach turns because he’s remembered the hand petting down his arm is the one that’s killed dozens, maybe hundreds?

Some touches are more than nice, they’re _good_. They’re the ones on the back of his neck, when his fingers barely scratch at the hair on the back of his neck. The ones just short of loving, where Arkin has a split second that feels safe and he feels like he’s home. The ones that start as fingers pulling up his shirt, like he’s going to cut into him or burn him or otherwise hurt him, but become soft hands over his stomach and his newly-prominent half-starved hipbones.

He’d still take any of those over the touches without his gloves, though.

He hasn’t felt skin in so long. Everything feels like rubber, and leather, and cloth, and it’s isolating to the point that he’d take off a limb to make-believe interaction with another human.

So when the Collector does that, when he walks toward him and peels off the gloves, _that’s_ when Arkin panics. When he can see his blunt nails and pale skin, and he can already imagine what they’re going to feel like on him, _that’s_ what scares him.

Because he knows that no matter what touch it is, he’ll need that contact badly enough to take whatever he gives him, and _gratefully_.

Sometimes he thinks he doesn’t talk for Arkin’s sake. If bare skin is so therapeutic even when it’s holding the knife in his belly, God only knows what another person’s voice would do to him.

**Author's Note:**

> did you know you can find me on [tumblr](http://sandpapersnowman.tumblr.com/ao3direct)? : O


End file.
